


The Essence of Betrayal

by Tsukino_Akume



Series: Take a Stand [1]
Category: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Power Rangers S.P.D., Power Rangers Time Force
Genre: Abuse of Prisoners, Everyone Has Issues, Explicit Language, Gen, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsukino_Akume/pseuds/Tsukino_Akume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Love is whatever you can still betray... Betrayal can only happen if you love.</i> - John Lecarre</p><p>A Squad survived a shuttle crash. They survived more than a year alone in the Helix Nebula, waiting for rescue. They'll survive life on Earth after S.P.D.</p><p>Charlie won't allow her team anything less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Disclaimer/:** Seeing as I can't choose one timeline or scenario and stick to it, I'm pretty sure none of this is mine.  
>  **Warnings/:** Language  
>  **Author's Notes/:** I found an article linked on Facebook today that made me want to write threesome baby fic. rosabelle and Arytra encouraged me, and after much prodding, it somehow mutated into this. The idea is still building in my head, so I can't promise how quick updates will be. c.c;;;
> 
> This is not canon S.P.D. (obviously), nor is it anything to do with my Bright Skies or Fractured Fates universes. However due to the urge to make a specific person related to someone else ~~which is totally rosabelle's fault~~ , this 'verse has S.P.D. taking place in 2029 instead of 2025.

For as long as she could remember, her fathers had always told her _"Mommy's watching over us."_

When she was little, it had been a source of comfort. Mommy couldn't be there, but she loved them, and she'd keep them safe until they could see her again. Whenever she was sad or lonely, whenever she wanted her mother, she would hug her brother close and whisper "Mommy's watching over us." 

By the time she hit her teens, it became a source of frustration and deeply-buried hurt. Mom was watching them, but she wasn't _there_. She wasn't with them, where she belonged. She was off on another mission saving someone or making sure things happened the way they were supposed to or whatever excuse they'd been given now. 

Her brother took their mother's absence as a symbol of dedication: putting the job first, even before family. To him, it was something to aspire to, that sense of duty. To be trusted to know that he'd do what was right, what was necessary. 

For Charlie, her mother was a hole in her life that her fathers could never replace. It was being the only girl in her class who had to get 'The Talk' from her dad. It was never having anyone to go to with questions about her body or her thoughts - not because Dad and Papa didn't try, but because they couldn't _understand_ , not the way she needed them to. It was skipping all the mother-daughter field trips and Girl Scout projects because she didn't want to face more another round of teasing for bringing Papa or Aunt Taylor instead. It was hating the color pink with all her heart, because pink was the color her mother always wore that she rarely got to see. 

She joined S.P.D. because her fathers worked for S.P.D. Because her brother was joining, and she couldn't imagine ***not*** being on the same squad as her brother. She hated their policies and their rules and restrictions and their arrogance. But her family was S.P.D., so she became the best cadet they'd ever seen. 

One of the best, because she could never make her brother feel second to anyone. 

And for awhile, it was good. She had her brother and her squad and their friends, and her fathers would always look so proud when they saw her in her uniform. She was climbing the ranks faster than anyone could believe, setting records left and right and daring her brother to break them so she could break them again. 

And then one day she was told she'd been promoted, and her brother wasn't. 

She tried to argue. She didn't want a squad that didn't have him on it. He was her partner, her sounding board, her other half. He pushed her to be better, just like she pushed him. They were a set; they'd always ***been*** a set. 

But the commander wouldn't allow it. There was only one spot available, her scores had been the highest, they didn't feel he was ready for a new level just yet ... the list of excuses ran on and on. And no matter how hard she fought, in the end she found herself assigned to a new Squad. 

He stopped speaking to her for a month. 

It hurt, being betrayed like that. It hurt to think that he would ever believe for an instant that she would leave him on purpose. That he thought she could be so shallow, so petty, that she'd jump at a chance to be the best. 

It was a feeling she felt now, handcuffs around her wrists and restrained by security, as he stood in front of her and glared. Her face still stung from where he'd slapped her. 

"You're dead to me," he snarled. 

She spat in his face. "Fuck you, Skylar." 

They jerked her away roughly, pushing and shoving her along toward containment. They'd hold her for awhile, probably try to get some information out of her. Bargain with her, in exchange for leniency at her trial. She couldn't care less. 

She held her head high and chin firm as they paraded her past B Squad, past the cadets and the staff. She ignored the glares and the whispering, neatly ducked the shoe thrown at her head and ignored the kick to her ankle one of the assholes escorting her gave for it. They stopped her in front of Cruger for so he could stare at her for several minutes. She didn't bother spitting at him; he wasn't worth the effort. 

At last he shook his head and gestured for them to bring her to her cell. 

Fuck them. Fuck them all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in the middle of playing Harvest Moon: A Tale of Two Towns, and suddenly I started thinking about this again. So, here's chapter two.

Papa was the first one to try and visit her. She'd expected he would be. He didn't wait for things like protocol or permission, not when there was something he wanted to know.

She refused to see him, even when she could hear him arguing and pleading with the guards to let him in.

The guard outside her cell was watching her, so she folded her arms behind her head, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

****

It was more than a week before Dad came. He arrived with an escort, and hadn't bothered wearing his uniform. She'd tried to pretend to be asleep again, but the guard banged on the bars of her cell until she sat up and glared.

The grunts were stiff but polite as they opened the door for him. The one in the back discreetly fingered his blaster narrowing his eyes at her in silent threat. She would have flipped him off if they'd been alone.

Her father came to stand in front of her cot, staring down at her with an unreadable expression. She didn't stand, but she met him stare for stare.

"Why?" he asked finally. There was no anger in his voice, but his eyes were cold.

It hurt, seeing that look. That he would even feel the need to ask, that he would even think there was a reason *to* ask. That he thought he could just demand an answer from her.

That he was looking at her like she was a criminal, and not his daughter.

So she said nothing.

Eventually he made a frustrated noise, turned and nodded at the guards to open the door, and left.

She laid back on her cot, closing her eyes again.

****

She was surprised to get another visitor barely two days later. She was even more surprised by who it was.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't think they'd really keep me away, did you?" her mother retorted, hugging her before she could duck away.

She scowled, taking a step back. "What do you want, Mom?"

Her mother seemed startled. "What do I - Charlie, how could you even ask me that?" She reached out, trying to tuck some hair behind her ear.

She ducked the hand. "Don't you have somewhere you're supposed to be?"

Her lips thinned. "I'm supposed to be *right here*."

She laughed at her. "Since when has that mattered?"

Her mom flinched. "What? What are you - "

"You're *never* here. You're always off - working." She caught herself from saying the truth, mostly out of habit. "It's always about the next job for you. You've never been around when we needed you."

"That's *not* true."

"Our sixth birthday. My ballet recital. Our Little League games. Our karate tournaments and every single belt test except Yellow. That horrible play Sky did in middle school." She held up a hand, counting off on her fingers as she watched the color slowly drain from her mother's face. "Our ninth birthday. Sky's spelling bee. That year when he joined drama club because he thought it would look good on a college application? You never came. Not once." She smirked, ignoring the hollow feeling in her chest. "Should I go on?"

She watched as her mother swallowed, blinking rapidly for a moment. "I ... I didn't realize you felt that way." She hesitated. "But, Charlie ... You have to know that I love you."

The words were almost a plea.

She smiled bitterly. "Do I?"

****

"What did you say to Mom?!"

She glanced up lazily from her cot as her brother stormed into her cell, radiating fury. "Hmm?"

His jaw clenched, and his hands were fists at his sides. "*What*. Did you say to her, Charlie."

"I thought I was dead to you." she returned cooly, stretching. "I'm not so sure you should be on first-name basis with stranger."

He was practically shaking with rage by the time she swung her legs around to sit up. She looked at him from under her eyelashes, smirking. "You gonna hit me, Skylar?"

His nostrils flared, the way they always did when he was pissed off and trying not to show it. 

She chuckled. "Come on. We both know you want to. I'll even let you get in the first hit for free."

For a moment, she thought he actually might take a swing at her. They both knew he wanted to. They also knew that it wouldn't stop with one punch.

His fist hit the wall just above her head instead. 

He hunched forward over her, shoulders shaking slightly. "You - *why* Charlie?" he demanded, sounding anguished. "Why are you doing this? Why did you do *any* of it? Why are you - " He broke off with a frustrated groan, reaching up to rub at his face.

"Is this an interrogation?" She leaned back against the wall. "S.P.D. regulations state that an interrogation is only allowed in a designated interrogation room, with a provided witness and video recording. And a lawyer, if the accused asks for one."

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "Charlie - "

"I'd hate to see you break a regulation, Skylar. I know how much they mean to you."

For a split second something flickered in his eyes, and she thought he might understand. She hoped he would understand. Because if he did, it meant - a lot of things.

Instead his jaw tightened again and he straightened up, the cold distance returning to his voice. "Is that a request for a lawyer?"

She snorted, leaning back down again and crossing her arms behind her head. "No. I don't need a lawyer."

"One can be appointed - "

"I don't need a lawyer," she cut him off. She smiled, staring up at the ceiling. "The guilty don't need lawyers."

He stared at her for a long moment before he finally headed for the door.

"My team," she said abruptly. Because she wasn't allowed to so much as pass a note, and if anyone would tell her something it would be Sky. "They're all right?"

There was a long pause.

"They're safe."

She closed her eyes as the door shut behind him, smiling to herself while her eyes burned. "No, they're not."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's wondering, I have a very, very faint idea of what's going to happen with this story. This is one of those ones I write where the muse gets to run wild and we all see where she takes it.
> 
> Charlie's comments about 'points' adding up to her offenses was done through researching federal laws, but for the life of me I can no longer remember where. x.x

They brought her to the interrogation room the next day.

Sitting on the other side of the table was a new experience. She took her time pretending to study the room, despite the fact that there was only a tiny table and chairs. It hadn't exactly changed since the last time she'd seen it, no matter how long it had been. She wasn't sure why part of her had thought it might. 

Her surveillance finished, she turned to salute the two-way mirror that she knew her brother was hiding behind, smirking and blowing him a kiss. 

They left her there for four hours. She spent the time idly studying her nails, leaning back in her chair to doze, and staring up at the ceiling. Her shoulder throbbed the whole time from when one of the assholes who'd dragged her here had yanked her up off her cot. 

She supposed these sort of things were the new normal now. 

****

The first interrogator they brought to her was a joke. He was obviously new to the job, young enough to be somewhat in awe of her as much as he was afraid. 

"Miss - " He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Miss Tate. My name is - " 

"I don't care what your name is," she interrupted flatly, shooting a dark look at the mirror. _Really, Sky? I'm insulted._

He flinched. "I'm here to - " 

"I know why you're here." 

"You have the right to a lawyer - " 

"I don't need a lawyer." 

"If you can't afford a lawyer - " 

She slammed her hands down on the table, standing up to loom over the man as he quaked. "Listen, Pipsqueak. I. Don't. Need. A. Lawyer. I don't *want* a fucking lawyer. I'm not making any fucking deals no matter what you want to pretend you can offer me. No bargains, no names. The only thing you're getting from me is a prison record. Capiche?" 

He swallowed, nodding. "I - yes. Yes. I'll, um - " 

"You'll be leaving now." 

He nodded again, scrambling for the door. "If you uh, need anything - " 

"I won't." 

"You can call - " 

She turned, clenching her jaw and swinging a fist. "I said get the hell *OUT*!" 

The sound of the door slamming echoed behind him. 

She flopped back into her chair with an irritated sigh, letting the faint red glow fade from her fist as she returned her attention to the ceiling. "Gotta do better than that, Skylar," she called, leaning back on the legs of the chair. Her eyes closed as her hand throbbed dully. "Gotta do better than that," she murmured. 

****

The second interrogator was sleazy, more lawyer than interrogator. He played himself off as sympathetic while she leaned back in her chair and counted spots on the ceiling. 

He pushed at her for awhile, asking questions and trying to get a confession from her while her picking at her background and subtly implying that she was a spoiled, bitter brat, jealous of her brother's natural skill and desperate to live up to her fathers' legacy. 

By the time he started sympathizing about hard it must have been to hold up under so much pressure, she was laughing. She kept laughing until he finally slunk away in defeat. 

****

Her third interrogator was a typical S.P.D. bruiser. Birdie had sent him, most likely. Cruger would still be trying to feel her out, try and work out if something could be done to 'help' her. Birdie would have already signed them all off as criminals. 

"Do you even understand what's going to happen to you, you self-righteous bitch?!" he screeched at her, puffed up like some sort indignant harpy. "Do you even realize what you've done?!" 

She cracked open an eye as he loomed above her, breaking her from the light doze she'd been enjoying while he raged for more than an hour. It was the best sleep she'd had in longer than she could remember. "Twenty-two points for assault with a deadly weapon," she drawled. "Thirty-two for kidnapping with a deadly weapon with the intention of first degree murder. Forty-three for treason. There is nothing less you S.P.D. barnyard rejects can give me than life in prison, so _shut the fuck up_ and get out of my face." 

The spines around his neck prickled. "You ... you - " He screeched again, something in a language she couldn't understand but could certainly guess the meaning. And then he was charging, and she was suddenly grabbed and thrown hard against the wall behind her. Hands closed around her throat before she had a chance to so much as find her feet. 

_Good. This is more like it._ She smiled to herself, closing her eyes as her hands gripped the fingers on her neck and yanked, as her feet pushed off the wall at the same time, launching her up and over in a move that could have easily broken her neck if the hands hadn't come free instead. Red light flared around her fists, burning brightly as she landed in a crouch. She launched herself at his face the next instant, fist flattening into a firm, flat hand that aimed straight for his eyes. 

_This is the way things are supposed to be._

She could hear the sound of the door being thrown open, of people shouting and guns being cocked as she threw the harpy across her in a human shield, keeping her fingers hot and pressed firmly in the base of his neck. She kicked him in the knee as he struggled, backing into a corner as someone fired and drawing her shield down over her head. Even in the madness of the situation, she could feel the tension that had been keeping her on edge for days finally slip away, feel her shoulders relax as something inside of her slipped back into place. 

_This is what I know._

Her shield suddenly became dead weight under her hands, trapping her in her corner, and eventually everything began to fade into a calm, hazy gray.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something about Harvest Moon just wakes up my Charlie Muse for some reason ...
> 
> Finally: we have (the beginnings of) a plot! (Yes, this is always where I was going with this.)
> 
> Also, I am taking requests for pairings for this story. I'm pretty set with B Squad. Anyone else from MMPR-Dino Charge, excluding RPM, may be mentioned at some point if not actually appear, so I am looking for pairing requests/crackpairing challenges! I can't promise I'll use them all, but I enjoy trying out new pairings in different 'verses. Also looking for occupation requests for various characters; this is intended as a canon spin-off, but I really haven't decided on much for backgrounds other than the main characters I need. So requests/suggestions are all welcome!

She woke up to another gray ceiling, but she knew instantly that this wasn't her cell.

There was a bed underneath her, only a hair more comfortable than the thin mattress they'd given her in prison. Her wrists were strapped down, and there was a needle in her right arm. Infirmary. 

It took everything she had to keep from screaming. 

"Oh, you're awake," a voice said mildly. 

Her head snapped to the right. 

Bridge - B Squad Green - was sitting beside her. There was a book in his hand, and he looked strangely calm. "Are you hungry?" he asked, reaching for the call button on the bed. 

"Untie me," she demanded, ignoring the question. 

He smiled politely, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well I would, but you tried to kill me two weeks ago." 

"As if I could touch you with the guards outside the door," she snapped. "Now _untie me_." 

"Couldn't if I wanted to. Which, surprisingly I don't. Seeing's as again, you tried to kill me. But even if I wanted to, which I don't, I can't, because I don't have the key." 

She grit her teeth, trying not to focus on the way the bands felt against her skin. "Call the person who does." 

"I hate to tell you this - well, actually I don't, it's just an expression - but I really don't think the Commander's going to want to let you go either. After all, you tried to - " 

"Bridge," she cut him off, ignoring the way he blinked at her. "I. Don't. Care. Call them." 

He frowned. "I didn't think you knew my name." 

She tried to clench her fists and failed. Distantly, she recognized the sound of the heart monitor beeping loudly. "You've been Skylar's roommate for two fucking years, Carson. Of course I know who you are, now _call them_." 

Shit. Her chest was starting to feel tight. Was she having a panic attack? 

Her fists began to pulse slowly with red energy, and she couldn't have stopped them if she wanted to. "Carson," she said again, trying as enunciate as clearly as possible when breathing hurt and her skin was starting to crawl. "Either you get Cruger here, and get these fucking things off of me, or I incinerate this bed right now. And I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure that's coming out of *your* paycheck, not mine." 

He eyed her for a moment, but all she cared about was that he was finally reaching for his morpher. "Commander?" 

She tuned out the conversation, closing her eyes and trying to force herself to breathe through her nose. In her head, she could tell herself that it was just some fucking padded handcuffs, but her body was flooding with adrenaline. Her wrists were painfully hot, but she couldn't stop the energy burn if she tried. Everything in her was screaming to find her team and _run_. 

But her team wasn't here. They were fuck knew where, with who knew what being done to them. They were counting on her, they were counting on her to get them out of this and she had to - she _had_ to - 

When her head cleared, she was kneeling, head inches from the floor and her arm twisted painfully behind her. 

"Are you listening to me now?" Carson asked pleasantly. 

There were guards surrounding them. Carson hadn't exactly needed the help; she couldn't break free if she tried. Not to mention her shoulder was still throbbing from the last asshole who'd dragged her into interrogation. Even so, she heard the whine of a blaster warming up in preparation to fire. 

"Fuck," she hissed, pressing her forehead against the cement to try and take some of the pressure of her arm. 

"I'll take that as a yes." 

"Take it as whatever you fucking want, just _let go of me_ ," she snarled. 

"You keep saying that, but then you also keep trying to kill me," Carson pointed out. 

The door slammed open. "Let her go!" 

She hissed as Carson turned to face the intruder, incidentally twisting her arm again. "I'm sorry, I don't - Commander?" Carson asked, seeming confused. 

"Let her go, Ranger Carson," the voice said sharply. 

"You heard her, Cadet," came Cruger's voice. 

"Yes, Sir." Carson sounded distinctly unhappy, but the hand gripping her arm released. 

She rolled over painfully, using her feet to push her back against the wall. Her free hand gripped her shoulder as she tried to force herself to breathe. Her wrists were hot and itchy even though she didn't have the energy to burn anymore, but she couldn't calm her body down. The urge to scream was overwhelming; it was all she could do not to let them see how hard she was shaking. 

Someone crouched down in front of her. 

"Charlie?" The voice was soft, gentle in a way no one had spoken to her in weeks. "Ranger Tate, can you hear me?" 

"I'm not deaf," she growled. She braced herself mentally for the inevitable, and looked up into a face she knew only from pictures. 

Dr. Kimberly Hart, leading Ranger psychology expert and former Mighty Morphin Pink Ranger looked back at her with nothing but warmth in her eyes. "Hey, Charlie," she said softly. "I'm Kim." 

"I know who you are." 

There was a brief flicker of something in Dr. Hart's eyes, and she nodded once. "I get that a lot, given my career choice," she admitted, giving a wry smile. The doctor's eyes flickered over her briefly, and her smile tightened. "Why isn't she wearing any red?" she asked abruptly, speaking up so everyone else in the room could hear her. 

There was an awkward pause, and Charlie took a moment to study the doctor suspiciously. 

"The A Squad was stripped of their morphers and uniforms upon processing them from containment," Cruger said finally. "It's standard - " 

"They were _what_?" Dr. Hart cut him off, turning sharply. "Why would you - what the hell were you thinking?!" She held up a hand, shaking her head. "Nevermind, I don't care. Someone bring me something red. Now." 

"Uh." Carson looked hesitant. "I'm not sure that's a - " 

"That's not a request, Ranger Carson," she said shortly, giving him a brief glare before turning back to Charlie. "Don't worry," she continued more quietly, the sharpness gone from her voice in a heartbeat. "That'll help with the withdrawl. Do you need something warmer, like a blanket?" 

She blinked at her stupidly for a moment before finally realizing the woman probably thought she was shaking because she was cold. "I don't need - " she started, and stopped, because it didn't matter anyway. "I have nothing to say to you," she said instead. 

Now the doctor was the one blinking. "I'm sorry?" 

"How many times," she ground out, clenching her good in a fist, "Do I have to tell you morons I'm not making any fucking deals until you stop. Asking." 

Dr. Hart looked stunned. "I - oh. _Oh_. Honey, no." She leaned forward, reaching out to put a hand on her arm and stopping when she eyed it warningly. "Charlie, I'm not here to make any deals. I'm here for *you*." 

"Me," she repeated flatly. 

"And your team," the doctor clarified, nodding. "We're sponsoring you." She shook her head, waving a hand at her blank stare. "It's a lot of political, old-world Ranger laws - Billy and Trini can explain them a lot better than I can. My team is here to appear as your guardians in court." 

She stared. 

"What. That does - " She stopped, shook her head, rubbed her temples, and tried again. "That doesn't make any sense." 

"What it means, Miss Tate," Cruger spoke up sharply, and she tensed at the strange address, "Is that Dr. Hart and her team seem to believe that you and the rest of A Squad are innocent of treason, and are prepared to testify in a court of law on your behalf." 

Everything around her seemed to freeze. 

"What?" she said again, feeling hollow. 

"Charlie." Dr. Hart's voice was painfully gentle. "I don't know what happened out there. But no matter what happened, we're going to support you. We won't let them put you away for something as ridiculous as treason." 

She blinked hard. "You don't even know me." 

Dr. Hart shook her head. "I've seen the footage. You're still a Ranger. That's all I need to know." 

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. To blink back the tears that were forming in her eyes. She tried to focus on the cold wall at her back, the throb in her shoulder, the tingling in her hands that felt like the beginning of a rash, the wall of security staff holding blasters on her. Cruger's cold, indifferent expression. 

But Dr. Hart was still watching her with that soft, kind look. 

She couldn't take it anymore. 

With a sob that bordered on a wail, she threw herself into Dr. Hart’s arms and burst into tears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently CharlieMuse wants the fanon names for A Squad this time. Ironically, I don't like these names, but whatever keeps her going. So for those who haven't seen the 'unofficial' names: Yellow: Ivan, Pink: Rachel, Green: Cliff, Blue: Beevor.
> 
> This story is giving me ALL THE HEADCANON.

She drifted in and out of consciousness for awhile.

She was aware of people coming and going, people who spoke in angry whispers. There was a doctor who tried to get too close; she vaguely remembered breaking his hand. Otherwise she ignored everything, going back to sleep the moment she could. It wasn't a restful sleep, but she felt safer than she had in the cell. 

When she finally woke for more than a few minutes, she found herself lying on another infirmary bed. 

This time, there were no restraints. 

Instead she was curled against someone's side, and there was a hand very gently stroking her hair. She couldn't hear the guards, but she knew they'd been stationed just outside the door. It would have bothered her more, but her eyes had already focused on the red S.P.D.-issue T-shirt spread out on the bed in front of her, her fingers tangled in the hem. 

"I don't deserve this," she said softly. 

The hand on her hair stilled briefly before going back to stroking her hair. "I don't think that's true," Dr. Hart answered. 

She snorted. "That's because you think I'm a Ranger." 

"And you don't?" 

"No." She didn't elaborate. 

Instead she let go of the shirt, forcing her fingers to uncurl. "My team?" 

"Worried about you." 

She huffed, irritated at the sudden warm, fluttery feeling that spread through her chest. "Morons." 

"I think that's what Rachel called you, actually." Dr. Hart sounded amused. 

She rolled her eyes, because of course she did. 

"We're working on getting you put in the same room, but they want a guardian for each one of you first. Zack should be here sometime today, but Jason may not be for another day or so. We'll try and start getting them in here as soon as possible." 

"Don't bother," she muttered, because it didn't matter anymore. 

She rolled over to stare at the ceiling, ignoring the answering throb in her shoulder. "I should have killed them all after the crash," she said softly. "Before anyone woke up." 

But she'd been stupid back then, still believing she needed to keep her team alive. Believing that S.P.D. would save them. That they were worth more alive than dead. 

She chuckled bitterly. "My life would have been so much simpler." 

"You don't believe that." 

"I don't believe a lot of things anymore." 

There was a pause. "Charlie ... you're dying." 

She closed her eyes, because it wasn't anything she hadn't already known. "It doesn't matter anyway." 

****

Someone was kicking her. 

She grabbed the foot as she snapped awake, twisting to break the bone. Instead the leg moved, and a fist nearly caught her in the shoulder. She released the leg for the fist, and found herself glaring into Ivan's face. 

She opened her mouth to swear at him for being an asshole, only to be yanked off the bed and slammed against the nearest wall. Fire burst through her shoulder, and it was sheer will that kept her from crying out in pain. Instead she clenched her jaw so hard it hurt until the pain died down again, turning to glare at her Second with a look that promised pain. 

He glared back, unmoved. "How long?" 

"Does it matter?" she countered, irritated. 

"Don't start with me, Charlotte," he snapped. "How long?" 

She rolled her eyes, because Ivan only called her Charlotte when he felt like she needed mothering. "Tell me you weren't actually expecting medical attention after we lost." 

His fists tightened in her shirt. "That's not what I asked, Charlotte. Now answer the damn question." 

She rolled her eyes. "Fucking dog," she muttered, because he never let it go when one of them was hurt, no matter how stupid it was for him to fuss like that. "I don't know, okay? Depends on how long ago they started throwing lawyers at me." 

His jaw clenched. "That was four days ago." 

She shrugged her good shoulder. "There you go." 

"God _damn it_ , Charlie!" 

"What was I supposed to say?" she snapped back. "Hey, your guard's an asshole. Can someone reset my shoulder?" 

He looked ready to argue, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Their fucking bruiser gave me a concussion," she hissed, too low for the cameras in the room to hear. "I don't need anything from S.P.D." 

Some of the fight drained out of him at that, and he let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry," he muttered finally. "I know how important they were to you." 

She blinked hard. "I have other priorities now." 

He snorted. "Liar." But his hands were gentle now as he directed her to face the wall. 

She braced herself with her good arm, setting her feet. "What, you don't believe me?" 

She hissed as he pushed her shoulder back in place, pressing her forehead against the wall and trying to calm her breathing. "Fuck." 

A hand lightly flicked the back of her head. "Your priorities have always been skewed, stupid." 

"That's insubordination, soldier," she managed after a moment. 

He barked out a laugh. "You're such a bitch." 

She closed her eyes. Somewhere inside of her could feel a pulse warmth at the words. It was the kind of warmth she hadn't felt since the day her team faced off with B Squad. "I should kill you," she murmured. 

There was no coming back from what she'd done. Her team may have followed her, but she'd lead them down the path they'd chosen. From the moment she'd accepted Grumm's offer, it was her decisions that had brought them to where they were now. 

Criminals. Prisoners. S.P.D.'s best and brightest, now forced into prison cells and guarded meetings. 

She should have killed them all when she'd woken up in the wreckage of the shuttle, instead of trying to bind their wounds and waiting anxiously for them to wake up. She should have killed them in the cells of Grumm's ship, before his kindness to his prisoners ever made any of them question which side they were meant to be on. She should have turned on them before B Squad ever had a chance to bring them in, to keep them from ever having to stand behind bars again. 

They deserved so much better than this. 

A hand settled on the back of her neck, squeezing just enough to give a hint of pain. "Not yet." 

_I'm not dead yet._

She scrunched her eyes tighter as they burned. 

Ivan leaned in closer, his hand warm on her skin. When he spoke, his voice was firm. "I won't give you the satisfaction."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie is reciting lines from Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost. 'Chuck' will eventually be explained.

Silence was oppressive.

Silence reminded her of the hours spent waiting to see if her team would live, bandaging wounds and trying desperately to keep the tiny, flickering fire going. Of the radio after Cliff had finally cobbled something together to make it work, leaving an endless background of white noise they all pretended they couldn't hear. Of days spent alone in her cell on Grumm's ship, staring at the ceiling and wondering if her team was already dead. 

She stared at the ceiling of S.P.D.'s infirmary, good arm resting behind her head, and tried not to think about how quiet it was. 

"The sweet war-man is dead and rotten, sweet chucks," she said softly to the air. 

She wondered if he was still reciting sonnets each night, reminding himself that there was beauty in this world. If Rachel hugged her pillows because there was nothing else to hold on to. If Cliff could sleep at all without being able to see the sky. 

"Beat not the bones of the buried," she continued, closing her eyes and trying to picture them around her. Chuck's soft, gruff voice breaking the silence. Rachel's head on her chest, their fingers entwined. Ivan using her legs as a pillow, Cliff hugging his knee beside them all as he watched the stars. 

She tried to imagine them with her, and tried to feel whole. 

"When he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device." 

Silence answered her, and she sat up with a frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand over her face. Fuck, she missed sleep. "Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing," she murmured, giving a faint, bitter smile. It felt strangely appropriate. 

"Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted." 

Her head snapped up and she was off the bed before she was consciously aware of it, shifting into a ready stance. Her hands didn't flare with light, but she could feel a warm pulse under her skin. 

Rachel smirked at her from just inside the doorway. There was a large man lurking behind her, but he didn't seem to be touching her. Her hands were free, and she wore a plain pink t-shirt over her gray prisoner uniform. 

This couldn't possibly be real. Any more than Ivan had been. "I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper," she said eventually, for lack of anything better to say. 

"Loves her by the foot," Rachel returned, her smirk widening. 

"He may not by the yard," she finished, feeling a flicker of a smile of her own. 

They met in the middle of the room, taking a moment to look one another over. She found herself relaxing, just a hair, at what she found: it wasn't the condition she'd have preferred to have her in, but it was better than she'd expected. She was whole, clean, and barely bruised. Anything else could be dealt with. 

Rachel on the other hand, narrowed her eyes. "They said Dr. Hart was going to make sure you ate." 

She shrugged a shoulder. "Haven't been hungry." 

Her right hand clenched and unclenched; Charlie found herself trying not to smile as she tracked the movement. "They're supposed to be getting you a shirt." 

She shrugged again. "They did." 

The fist clenched again. "Why aren't you wearing it?" 

She glanced away, amusement gone, and said nothing. 

There was a sound of movement, and she looked up to see Rachel stalk over to the infirmary bed, glance around, and finally snatch the red t-shirt Dr. Hart had brought out of the trash. She turned around with a glare. "Put it on." 

She didn't look at it. "No." 

Rachel's eyes narrowed. 

"Don't," she ordered, knowing exactly what she was thinking and ignoring the sour look she got in return. "I'm not wearing it, and that's final." 

She turned away, eyeing the large man who was now leaning beside the door, arms folded as he tried to look as unobtrusive. He was better at it than she might have expected. "Who are you?" she demanded. 

He blinked at her for a moment. "Jason Scott," he said eventually. He tilted his chin toward Rachel. "I'm her guardian." 

It took her a moment to place him; he looked almost nothing like the pictures they'd been shown in Ranger History. He was taller, broader in more ways than one. His hair was buzzed short, and he had grown a beard. But when she did, it was all she could do not to take a step back. 

"You should leave," she said shortly, glaring at him furiously even though she couldn't quite meet his eyes. 

He gave another slow blink in response. "I can't do that." 

"I don't care. Do it anyway." 

"He's not leaving until I do," Rachel spoke up behind her, and she tensed briefly at how close she was standing. 

"Then get out." 

"No." A hand reached out to rest on her arm, giving a slight, painful squeeze to her elbow. "Not yet, Charlie." 

She flinched. "Bitch," she whispered, meaning it. 

There was a slight pressure on her back, and she knew instinctively that Rachel's head was resting against her shoulder. "Not yet," she murmured again, and there was a catch to her voice that hadn't been there in weeks. 

It hurt to hear. 

Charlie closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I can't promise you anything." she said eventually. "I can't - " 

"We never needed your promises, Charlie." 

_But I wanted to give them to you,_ she tried to say. _I wanted to give you everything._

But the words stuck in her throat. 

She settled for reaching back wordlessly, accepting the piece of fabric that met her fingers. She stepped away to pull it over her head, shuddering at the immediate flare of warmth that came the moment the color touched her skin. After more than a week without the feel of the Power surging through her, even this weak, filtered version was like fire rushing through her veins. 

A hand settled over her left fist, and she looked up to see Rachel frowning at the flickering red light pulsing through her hand. "Has this been happening since?" 

She shrugged. "Not this bad. Haven't been wearing red," she added pointedly. 

"Did you tell Ivan?" 

"Why?" she snorted. "Nothing he could do about it." 

Rachel's fist clenched again. "Charlie - " 

"What - is that normal?" Mr. Scott sounded alarmed. 

"Sort of," Rachel answered him, before she could tell him to mind his own business. "It didn't used to happen this often." 

"What - " 

"My brother got shields, my fists glow when I'm pissed off," Charlie snapped. "There's a fucking report; go read it." 

Gentle fingers traced the back of her hand, and she forced herself to take a breath. 

"After ... after we crashed," Rachel said slowly, her eyes distant. "Charlie used to heat up her hands to keep the rest of us warm at night. It started to be harder for her to stop after a while." 

_Red light, flickering in the darkness as everyone huddled close._

The fingers curled around the inside of her wrist, and Charlie shuddered at the memory. 

" ... And it's still happening?" Mr. Scott asked after a long moment. There was an odd tone in his voice, but she couldn't place it. 

Rachel glanced up as Charlie shook her head. "Yes," she answered, narrowing her eyes when Charlie glared at her. "It's still happening." 

" _What the fuck,_ Rachel?!" she hissed 

"You need help, Charlie," Rachel snapped back, too low for anyone who wasn't standing next to them to hear. "You haven't slept since we were brought in, you're hiding injuries and ignoring Withdrawl ... you can't even stop yourself from thinking you have to protect everyone when we're not even there!" 

She went rigid. "Get out." 

"I'm not leaving - " 

"I said get. _Out!_ " she roared, grabbing the other woman's arm and shoving her into Mr. Scott. 

Rachel's head came up as Mr. Scott caught her shoulders, eyes narrowing as she gripped the spot on her arm where Charlie had grabbed her. She shoved down a flicker of guilt. 

"Get out," she repeated more calmly, turning back to the bed. "We're done here." 

There was a long silence, long enough that for a moment she thought they might finally have left her alone. 

And then Rachel gave a short, dark laugh. " ... You actually think we'll make it that easy for you?" 

She clenched her jaw, trying not to feel the warmth flickering violently throughout her fists. 

"Fine. You keep pretending this is anything other than exactly what it is. Keep doing exactly what you're doing." 

She closed her eyes, fighting to hold in a frustrated scream. 

"Just don't be surprised when the rest of us keep following right after you." 

She spun around just in time to see the door slam closed on an empty room. 

The scream she'd been holding finally broke free.


End file.
